The astronaut’s suit smells like spent
gunpowder, the magazine says, meaning
the moon is the after-
math of war, or perhaps
it’s the scent of satellites
orbiting long-dead stars. In a dark pocket
of the universe we walked the wind-
shaped dunes that hissed
like cosmic ice. I thought
I knew the limits of sadness
In this world, but the tent’s fibers
glistened like a meteor’s pale tail and
behind the curtain,
I realized the veiled
scope had kept its vigil
for some time, wide eye pointed
toward Earth’s illusory dome. It would be
months before I heard you drag
your packed bag across
our marble floor to catch
a red-eye bound for the city where
the explosion’s embers burned for days
after the attack, before
the reporter on scene said
the crew freed
the woman’s husband by detecting with
a tiny machine his still-beating heart
as he fought for air. That night
in the desert there was
nothing to stop us from
going in. We entered, undressed. If
there’s a passage between this world
and the next, let it begin
in that dormant tent.
Should darkness fall
I’ll meet you there.

To learn more about Shara Lessley, go to her author website by clicking here.

Below is a picture of the observatory.

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